


Red City Blues

by Germindis



Series: Red City [3]
Category: Underfell - Fandom, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Abuse, Aftermath of Torture, Alternate Universe - Underfell (Undertale), Bad Sex, Bestiality, Body Horror, Bukkake, Dubious Consent, Ecto-Body (Undertale), Ecto-Breasts (Undertale), Ecto-Genitalia (Undertale), Ecto-Vagina (Undertale), Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Horror, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mind Rape, Miscarriage, Multi, Other, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prostitution, Psychological Horror, Psychological Trauma, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Violence, Somnophilia, Soul Sex, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, Trauma, Underfell Sans (Undertale), meant to be read by absolute monstrous garbage only
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:06:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26022379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Germindis/pseuds/Germindis
Summary: Underfell Sans has clawed his way out of the clutches of the infamous brothel known as Red City. He's escaped sexual servitude from the monster that bought him as a pet. He's left with a limp, a very nice cane he refuses to use, a faulty memory, and a few other small problems. The universe crashed a little, and now there are weirdos everywhere.He can resolve all that with lots of fucking, right?It's time for the aftermath.Part three of the Red City series, but it should be possible to start from here and figure things out fine. Lots of dubious consent because Sans's "no" is broken.
Relationships: Grillby/Sans (Undertale), Onionsan/Sans (Undertale), Sans (Undertale)/Multiple Characters, Sans/Original Undertale Character(s), Sans/Toriel (Undertale)
Series: Red City [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/460441
Comments: 14
Kudos: 37





	Red City Blues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back my friends. You've been along for this ride for quite some time. Then again, if you're new here: welcome for the first time! I truly hope you enjoy this aftermath fic. I'll do my best to bring you something fun. 
> 
> [The Red City Blues main theme.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AEB6ibtdPZc)

Sans thought the pale phlegm might be the most abhorrent color he’d ever seen. It drifted in clumps in his soul as he held the organ up, rotten driftwood in a polluted pond. He stuffed his soul back in his chest before he could start compulsively scratching. He’d known it was a bad idea to look in the first place. The only result was that he tortured himself and had to fight not to make it worse. 

It wasn’t like he would have the courage to ask anyone to help with it. Alphys had offered to try, and Sans almost threw up just from her talking about it. Even knowing she’d seen it was too much.

He wanted to be fixed. He wanted to not be sick.

It seemed the people in his life all had a different idea of how that was going to happen. For his brother, Papyrus, it meant that Sans needed a job. That was hardly a surprising angle from him. The problem was, Sans wasn’t sure he could successfully serve fries in a fast food shack, much less the job Papyrus expected of him—to be the Underground’s first Judge in a century. The fact that their Ruler, Frisk, had promised the job to him was pure cronyism. Anyone could see that Sans had no credentials, though Papyrus seemed to think otherwise.

A knock on the door put those thoughts in a back seat. Sans looked around, eyes landing on the too fancy cane Papyrus had procured for him. Sleek black with a golden tip shaped like the skull of a goat. Sans was reluctant to use it—it didn’t suit him at all and it didn’t feel like it was his; in fact, Sans was very sure he’d seen it in someone else’s hands once—but Papyrus was upset with him when he left the cane behind, and it was probably Papyrus at the door. As Sans picked it up, though, the door opened without waiting for his response. Sans didn’t like to contemplate the little knot of nostalgia he experienced at a door opening without the knocker being invited in by Sans.

Behind the door stood perhaps eight feet of metal, smartly styled head of hair nearly brushing the arched ceiling of the corridor. It was incredible the robotic monster didn’t need to hunch. They reminded Sans of Mettaton, but he was pretty sure this wasn’t him. Mettaton favored magenta and red, and this monster glowed with turquoise accents to their gray metal body. In what would have read as a petty shot at one-up-manship if this monster was familiar with Mettaton, the monster sported six extending arms instead of Mettaton’s four. They gave Sans a once over with their bright eyes before ducking into the room.

“I, the most popular and beloved ruler Napstaton the Indestructible, have figured out the mystery of this place in which my subjects were marooned.”

Sans took one step back before stopping himself.

“You don’t...um...say? Your majesty?”

So this was the monster that ruled the ‘crashed’ universe. Sans’s memory of the event was damaged, but months ago, Frisk’s repeated alterations of the timeline had finally resulted in larger consequences. A strange alternate universe full of monsters with eerie resemblances to this one crashed in through a break in time. It seemed that through the branching of alternate realities, these doppelgangers had been scrambled almost beyond recognition from their counterparts. Each time Sans laid eyes on one of them, he felt the shiver of revulsion one experienced when looking at a corpse with its eyes open. There was no doubt, it was bad luck to interact with any of them. But it was impossible to avoid—the universe crash had doubled the number of monsters, but not the size of the Underground that contained them. They were all left in Sans’s original world. Who knew what the world of these other monsters had looked like.

Frisk, the sweet child they were, had been doing their best to accommodate the new monsters and find them places to stay, on top of their other duties as the new ruler after Asgore’s fall. It only made sense that the crashed universe had its own monster in charge, if this Napstaton wasn’t faking. That presented new problems on top of problems for Frisk. 

Their highness Napstaton pointed a gloved finger at Sans, their arm extending until it was inches from his skull.

“You are the answer.”

Sans wanted to try backing up again, but now he was stuck in place. One of Napstaton’s other hands poked their own nose with a metallic clink.

“A child ruler, barely ready to take over? And that fallen body on display, the one they say is the former king—a goat! Not even the same species!” They smirked, wagging a finger. “That leaves the mystery: who was at the goat’s side? They think they’re so clever, covering it up, but I am much cleverer. Granted, the heir’s true species was difficult to guess, as they’re...” Two of Napstaton’s hands shuffled in the air like they were juggling invisible balls, “...weird looking. But now that I can compare the two, it’s so obvious—they’re a deformed skeleton! They are _your_ child!”

They advanced on Sans, closing him in. Their arms were continuing to extend in such convoluted patterns that Sans was being enveloped by a latticework of metal cords. Sans was surprised his voice was working, his nerves already frazzled.

“They ain’t a skeleton. They’re human.”

The whiz of metal arms grew louder as an arm curled in the air past Sans’s skull.

“That silly nonsense again! Humans are extinct.” Napstaton’s announcement left no room for disagreement. “Yes, the resemblance between you two really is uncanny.”

In spite of himself, Sans did feel the slightest twinge of pleasure at that. Napstaton continued.

“Clearly, when you realized there was another kingdom bursting in, your loyal subjects recognized your weakened state and feared a regicide. And they are loyal—ask any of them, and they will insist the female goat in pictures about the castle was the Queen, when she is so obviously the deceased’s sister. No, you all came up with this ridiculous story, and you were hidden away, your heir rushed to the throne with no apparent guardian left. But I tell you, it wasn’t necessary at all. We can settle the issue of kingship between our two realms peacefully, with a solution that would benefit us both.”

Two of Napstaton’s limbs zipped back into place by their sides so that they could lay their arms akimbo.

“We must be married.”

The air left Sans, his voice the barest squeak.

“What?”

Napstaton shifted the weight of their body, mechanical clicks accompanying the movement.

“It’s practical. We could join the strength of our two kingdoms, quell in-fighting, and you wouldn’t need to force your poor, malformed heir so early to the throne. I am more than experienced enough, and you could quietly retire in comfort while I took over.”

Where was the camera crew waiting to pop out and yell that Sans had been pranked? He turned his skull, only for it to be directed back to looking at Napstaton by a whirring hand stopping to cup his face. Napstaton was leaning down, gazing into his sockets.

“What do you say?” 

Sans’s pussy manifested with abrupt heat. The glow of magic drew Napstaton’s attention downward, and their own flush of blue colored their face.

“Oh.”

For his part, Sans couldn’t speak. This monster had cornered him, had him alone, was touching him—of course Sans’s body would respond like this. He didn’t know if it was the right response, but he did know that with him, it was inevitable.

Napstaton appeared to be collecting themself.

“Well. That’s forward....so sudden.” They straightened, running a hand through their hair in an affectation of confidence. “Do you want me already?”

There was only one answer to that. Sans had to make sure any monster that got this close to him didn’t leave unhappy.

He shuffled in closer with the aid of his cane, letting his lids droop invitingly as he looked up at the other monster.

“Only if you do.”

Napstaton’s eyes swept up and down Sans’s body.

“Hell.”

Four of the six arms swooped around Sans to lift him into the air. His cane clattered to the floor as each of his limbs was wrapped individually, two of the monster’s hands still free to wander down Sans’s body. An errant gloved finger stoked between his legs.

Sans had a moment of regret for feeding into this. Even as the touch got him worked up further, made his knees bend inward in pleasure, his soul was pumping harder in his chest and the fear was there. A transient, frightful vision overtook him, of gravity upending and the metal arms tugging his legs over his head, something large sitting over his groin. That wasn’t what was happening. Sans had to exert a near physical effort to bring his brain back into reality, in which he was still firmly upright.

One hand dipped into Sans’s pants to stroke his pussy directly. The familiar smell of sex wafted up as he felt moisture collecting there. He wasn’t ready to do this. Napstaton still got an excited noise out of him as his clit was rubbed in circles. Sans’s pants came down.

“What. Do you think you’re doing?”

Papyrus stood in the doorway, furious red magic taking the shape of a bone blade in one tightly clenched fist. Napstaton was startled enough for Sans to jostle in their hold, but they managed to set him down gently on his feet, an extra hand extending to hold Sans’s pants in front of his bare crotch.

“Do you mind? There’s a such thing as knocking.”

Knocking as invitation, said a transitory thought in Sans’s mind.

The reaction took Papyrus aback, and he had to reassert his aggressive stance after a second of looking thrown.

“Get your hands off him. All of them. I won’t allow you to toy with my brother.”

The way Papyrus spoke about him brought back the nausea in Sans’s soul. Napstaton raised their hands, face aghast.

“Toy wi—he came onto me!”

Papyrus leveled his blade at the monster’s midsection. Looking at their body, Sans only just noticed that Napstaton’s dick had formed, made of magic like Sans’s parts, but the same turquoise hue as the magic lighting up areas of their metal body. Papyrus scoffed.

“Sans would do no such thing.”

Another twist of his soul gripped Sans in its queasiness.

“I did. I asked them...if they wanted to.”

The magic that formed Papyrus’s blade shuddered, losing shape momentarily as the words visibly processed behind his eyes. He stared from one of them to the other, repositioning his feet like he was bracing himself to parry an attack. Napstaton brushed their hair back with a huff.

“I can see that now is a bad time.” They took a moment to look down at the floor, at Sans’s cane, he realized. They picked it up with one hand as two more lifted Sans’s pants back up to his waist. Sans was handed his cane. “Consider what we spoke about. I will be convening with my people.”

They strode out of the room, all six arms zooming back in place so that Papyrus had to give them a wide berth to avoid being knocked aside. Even after they were gone, he kept the bone construct formed. 

“Sans, I—”

“I’m sorry.” Sans’s legs felt weaker than usual, and he had to fight hard not to slide to the floor and look even more pathetic. He focused on his cane with a desperate grip. “I’m sorry I did that. I know I’m not—that it’s, that it’s not good, and I did it anyway—”

Papyrus’s hand landed on Sans’s shoulder, silencing him. His attack had finally de-materialized, but Papyrus’s eyes could have set a monster on fire. In spite of the dangerous look, there was gentleness in his low voice.

“Sans, no. You didn’t do this. You’re sick.”

He was sick. Sans’s gaze drifted from his cane to his chest, where a tendril of light whispered out from the over-excitement of his soul. The little flicker was nearly transparent—was that white or green?

***

The dogs were in the palace foyer. Sans had blessedly stopped in time to not be noticed, cowering behind a pillar at the entrance that connected the foyer to the rest of the palace. His soul pounded, insisting they must have heard the tap of his cane as he approached, but it seemed they were too focused on their argument with Frisk.

Sans caught the tail end of a complaint from Lesser Dog, and it wasn’t difficult to guess the context.

“—kind of judge would that be? You’ve gotta be joking.”

Frisk stood, cool and calm as ever, not raising their voice or betraying the least bit if they were shaken while the dogs growled in their face. Their attitude certainly explained how they’d made it in the Underground for so long.

“I trust him. He would make the right decisions.”

“You’re not fucking listening!”

Doggo stopped Lesser Dog there, putting a paw on his back. Surprisingly, Lesser Dog let him speak. Doggo was more diplomatic.

“His ‘right’ decisions would be pretty biased, don’t you think? I know you’re close to him...but you said you’re here for all monsters. You gotta take them into account too.”

Dogaressa bared her teeth, Dogamy right behind her.

“It says a lot about how neutral you really want to be.”

“We didn’t break any laws, and he’s gonna hang us for it.”

Suddenly, Lesser Dog was sniffing at the air. And turned right to stare at Sans’s hiding spot. Sans shifted as quietly as he could to be completely obscured, covering his mouth out of an insane paranoia that the dog would smell the terror in his breath. He already smelled him. It was too late. Of course Lesser Dog was intimately familiar with all of Sans’s scents.

“C’mon, let’s go.”

The sound of padded paws herded out the entrance.

“We’re not done with this.”

Their steps faded.

A part of Sans pointed out what this really meant—they were afraid of him. Afraid of the power he’d been offered, at least. The churning inside him just couldn’t reconcile that as a completely good thing. That fear was so fragile. The tiniest slip up could result in everything falling apart again. Even Frisk’s rule was already being challenged, and not only by bizarre, obtuse robots. 

Sans got his legs moving, wobbling back into the inner palace. Frisk had enough on their plate without having to baby him every time his past brought them consequences.

***

It was difficult to say what was the last thing Sans remembered before he forgot, but he was pretty sure he didn’t remember running into a second Papyrus.

He’d met the other timeline’s Sans (or was knocked aside by him in the hall once and sneered at) so some place in his brain must have stored the knowledge that there was a Papyrus doppelganger, too. And that he was probably also taking refuge in the palace, if his brother was. Maybe Sans had assumed the Other monsters were too corrupted to have a version of Papyrus.

Papyrus number 2 stood, or hunched before Sans now, stopped dead before they walked past each other.

“Hey smallfry.”

That was rich, coming from a monster who measured at least a foot shorter than the original Papyrus. Of course, Sans was even shorter than that, but that was neither here nor there. Papyrus 2 had a slovenly appearance, wrapped in a puffy hoodie that didn’t match the weather this close to the core and might have been an effort to make him look larger. It wasn’t working. There were dark impressions around each socket, like lack of sleep or life itself had grown fists just to punch him in the face. Beaten down so hard that he stooped. 

Sans raised a shy hand in greeting. Even if this Papyrus looked a bit pitiful, any Papyrus was Papyrus, and he was Sans’s brother. And if he were being honest with himself, his brother made him nervous.

A small grin grew on Papyrus 2’s face.

“Huh. No insults.”

So Sans number 2’s nastiness wasn’t just reserved for the monsters of Sans’s world. It was hard to imagine what altered timelines had led to a version of Sans that insulted his own brother.

Papyrus 2 seemed to be echoing Sans’s thoughts on the differences. He looked Sans up and down, leaning back a little. His eyes lingered on the cane, then Sans’s face.

“Who knew my brother could actually be cute.”

Sans sputtered, warmth pouring into his face like he was being topped off from a pitcher of blush. Papyrus 2 waved a hand.

“You embarrassed? It’s a good thing. You’re not like ‘im at all. F’I’d said that to him, he’d be swinging that cane at me.”

Sans glanced down at his cane, reminded how self-conscious he was of it, but now for a new reason. He hadn’t imagined it could be used as a weapon. To him it was just another symbol of his weakness.

“I’d, um, no...I’d never do that.”

Papyrus 2 laughed, the sound a whole action from his body, hands going into pockets and shoulders shrugging.

“Don’t ever let him borrow it from you, for my sake, yeah? I heard him calling it a ‘scepter’ and giving it the old green eye. Thinks it’ll make him look more royal.”

Papyrus laughing off that rather chilling idea was too much for Sans. The words blurted out of his mouth beyond his control.

“I’d never let him hurt you.”

Papyrus 2 blinked down at Sans. The smile on his face grew bigger, emphasizing a nasty scar that snaked from a jagged over-sized tooth up to his left eye socket. It reflected the crack over the original Papyrus’s left eye, except this one looked more like it came from a scrape than a blow.

This Papyrus reached a hand out to give Sans a quick stroke on the head, fingers brushing his crown with an affection that made Sans quake a little. He could almost feel his pupils dilating.

“Ain’t you sweet.”

Memories of Muffet’s lap, of closeness you weren’t allowed outside a brothel, teased Sans with the traces of touches. Vulnerability. Things he shouldn’t want. Papyrus had never called him those nice things or touched his head, and it was so innocent it was obscene. Sans wanted a brother.

*** 

So that was where that flower was. Ugly face situated right over a conspicuous stone entryway to a stairwell, its vines were completely overgrown across the empty space in place of a door. If it had become a permanent fixture in the castle, it was no wonder Sans hadn’t seen it hanging around Frisk in a while.

Its name was ‘Flowey’ if he remembered right, and Sans withheld judgment on that name depending on the origins. If Frisk came up with it, it was cute. If the flower had named itself, it was the stupidest name he’d ever heard in his life.

“What’re you looking at? Don’t you have anything better to do?”

Even its voice rubbed Sans the wrong way. He shrugged his shoulders and kept on to the throne room, trying to shrug off the memory of the flower’s vine touching him as he went.

Walking the hall to the throne room still made Sans nervous. He couldn’t help thinking that one of these times, he’d go through the door and King Asgore would be standing there, looming over him instead of laying still in a glass casket. Maybe, in this nightmare version, the Royal Inquisitor would be skulking behind him. That was someone else Sans hadn’t seen a hint of in a while: Clarence, a rather eccentric bunny monster, and the one who unfortunate traitors to the throne were tossed to when the king wanted something ‘persuaded’ out of them. Sans could understand Frisk not taking on an Inquisitor, considering the type of governing they favored, but that didn’t explain where Clarence had gone. Frisk was forgiving, but just how forgiving?

Frisk was waiting for Sans, legs kicking over the edge of the throne until he walked through the door. Seeing him, they jumped down and skipped up to him. 

“You didn’t bring your cane...”

Sans looked down at his hands self-consciously.

“Uh, yeah. I don’t need it all the time. It’s flashy.”

Frisk tilted their head.

“Papyrus says it’s not good for you to walk around without it.”

Sans gave a laugh.

“He knows a lot, sure, but he ain’t a doctor.”

Frisk frowned. They took a moment to straighten the crown on their head, which had tipped near to falling off from their movements. As much as Sans adored them, he had to admit there was nothing particularly regal about them.

“Sans...I’m sorry...but a trial is coming up soon. You’ll need to decide if you want to be the Judge for it.”

Sans’s soul felt like it stopped beating for a moment. He almost wished he had the cane now so he could lean on it, and not look like he was just cowering into himself, away from his responsibilities. Even though he was.

Be the Judge of the Underground. Their ruler was asking him to do it. His brother wanted him to do it. If he did it, he’d be even more of a target than he already was. He had the protection of the crown, sure, but more than that—what was he saying to the rest of monsterkind if he took the position? That he was worthy? It was a joke.

Frisk waved their hands in front of them.

“You know I don’t want to pressure you to do this. I’m not saying you have to do it. It’ll get taken care of, even if you say no.” They touched their fingers together, staring down at them. “But there’s a timeline for you to say no, too. I did what I could, but we can’t leave everything tied up there. It’s not fair to the monsters waiting for trial.”

Sans’s soul pounded. It barely mattered that he was allowed to say no. He had to make a decision. Why couldn’t Frisk just order him one way or the other? And Sans, allowed to say no to something...that was a joke, too.

“Just...gimme one more day?”

He wobbled on his feet. What difference would a day make. But he just needed a little more. Just a little more time without answering this trap of a question.

Frisk looked him over, not saying anything to that, but they nodded. Sans couldn’t handle much more of this.

“Can. Can I go...your Highness?”

That startled Frisk, whether it was the request or the proper address, Sans wasn’t sure. 

“Yeah, Sans...you’re free to do what you want.”

What a nice sentiment. Sans bowed his skull, because if he risked an actual, polite bow, he would probably fall down. It wasn’t like Frisk would punish him for it. Then he hobbled out of the throne room, limp getting worse the further down the hall he got.

He was met by two very mismatched figures coming down the hall towards him. One was an orange cat, lanky and slouched and looking put upon. The other was an extremely small monster, some kind of fairy. It reminded Sans of Whimsun, one of Muffet’s other workers at Red City that Sans had rarely interacted with, despite them both having lived in the same section of the huge complex. Maybe they had a relative. This little fairy hid its face behind a grate of armor, its tiny frame decked out in the uniform of the Royal Guard. The cat might have been a junior recruit, because he had a badge insignia pinned to his jacket, but no armor.

Sans figured they were on their way to an audience with Frisk, but they stopped in front of him. 

The cat had a miniature notepad out, licking the tip of a fountain pen before tapping it on the pad.

“Hey. We need to check if you remember anything more.”

Sans balked. That didn’t make any sense. 

“More of what? I ain’t seen you before.”

The two monsters shared a look with each other. The cat bent even lower, like he was talking to a child. Sure, it did bring him closer down to Sans’s height, but he didn’t have to be a dick about it.

“About the slug.”

The defense was out of Sans’s mouth automatically.

“What slug.”

Something else was falling out of the cat’s mouth in slow motion, a buzzing enveloping Sans’s senses. Background noise became louder than the sounds in front of him, and that was how he somehow missed what the cat was saying but clearly heard his brother shouting all the way down the hall.

“Stop! Out! I told you out, and this is the last fucking straw!”

The tiny kitchen didn’t match the grand aesthetic of the castle. For heaven’s sake, the Judgment Hall was fucking gold. A dainty kettle blew steam that soaked the kitchen wall, the hiss drawing Sans’s eyes to travel from there to the smudges on the stove. Someone had mixed a batter and foregone cleaning. Cecil the mouse, a former whore just like Sans and now, unlike Sans, a Royal Guard, fiddled with a box of tea bags.

“Cecil?”

There was a blanket over Sans’s shoulders. Why was that there? It was too damn hot for that. He shrugged it off, letting it drape down his chair and touch the floor. Cecil looked up at him, ripping the top off the box and in almost the same movement pushing a plate of cookies closer to Sans.

“Yup, that’s me.”

The cookies smelled good. The bags of tea smelled good. 

“Did you want to...fuck me?” 

Sans had no idea why he said that. He didn’t want to fuck Cecil. From what he knew, Cecil didn’t want to fuck anyone. What the hell was wrong with Sans?

Cecil eyed him again, quiet for a moment. They didn’t betray anger or even distaste, though they very well should have. Cecil was still one of the hardest monsters for Sans to read. They tapped the plate of cookies.

“Eat some sugary crap, Sans. Tea’s gonna be a sec.”

Sans felt a lump in his throat. The shame was going to destroy him.

“S...sorry...”

A shade in Cecil’s eyes might have softened, just a bit.

“Just eat the cookies, Sans. Lie to me and tell me they’re good.”

  
  


***

  
  


“Who's been a very naughty little boy...”

no

“...that needs to be punished.”

no no no

“Now, what am I going to do to you?”

Sans couldn't move or speak. He quaked, feeling breath on his neck and an oppressive weight over his chest.

“I think I'll give you a nice hard fucking, then take you back home where you belong.”

Sans felt like he was frozen in this moment for hours, just on the verge of the worst.

“Little whore.”

He didn't know how long it had taken, but his limbs were free again and he bolted. He was caught again almost immediately, his arms held tight to his sides in a vicious bear hug from behind.

“No, no have mercy! I'll be good! I'll be good! I'll do anything—I'll—let you do anything to me, just please, please don't take me back there please oh plea...se...” His pleading dissolved into wretched wails.

He kept squirming at the arms holding him. They didn't budge, but they didn't move to harm him, either. Then Sans woke up fully. It was like the world was a different color, with different details. There was no intruder. It had been a nightmare.

He _was_ being restrained, though. He looked up to see Papyrus's stricken face, more terrified than Sans had ever seen him. There might have been a tinge of disgust in there, too. Papyrus's voice shook.

“I was...checking on you. You fell off the bed...you could have. Hurt yourself. I...”

Sans felt the wetness of tears still streaking his face. He snapped his head to look away from Papyrus as soon as he realized. He'd said those things out loud. Papyrus heard him say those things.

He couldn’t stay here.

  
  


**

  
  


The closed windows were fogging up with steam and grease from the hot grill, the gristly surface of the burgers spitting liquid fat into the air. Even with as close as they’d been in the past, Grillby had never revealed to Sans what he used instead of meat. The town lore was that a long time ago, Grillby had gotten ahold of the bodies of fallen humans and froze them before they rotted, and that was when his burgers had been the most popular, up until the real meat ran out. Of course, a dead monster’s dust couldn’t be made edible like a surface creature could.

Townies tried to tell Sans that humans tasted like pork, which made him almost certain the stories were just that. There were no non-monster pigs in the Underground, and very few monsters were still alive that could have ever eaten one, much less a human.

This was the first time Sans had been back here since meeting Frisk, he realized, and humans to him were now much less like mythical animals. Memories of him and Grillby joking about ‘human pig’ burgers and Sans gnashing his teeth with mock ferocity made him suddenly not really want the burger Grillby was preparing for him.

There was other business to attend to, anyway.

Sans watched the sparks flying up from Grillby’s neck, joining the sizzling air of the kitchen. He imagined pressing his mouth to the fire just above the shirt collar, what kind of noise Grillby might make. Sans squirmed in his seat, his pussy forming ready at the thought.

Thinking about this was a lot better than anything else he could be thinking about. The capital was an absolute mess, and Sans felt like he was the center of that mess so long as he was over there. Asgore’s quiet, fallen body was there, mocking even in death, available for viewing if the Queen decided to ever visit it (could goat burgers be made from a monster that hadn’t dusted yet, Sans wondered). Most of the doppelgangers were there, many holing up in the palace for protection from the monsters of this world, awaiting their rehoming. The dogs were there, circling the palace like feral strays while they anticipated what Frisk instituting a Judge position in the Underground meant about their fates. 

In the midst of all that, Papyrus wanted _Sans_ to be the Judge, to somehow give order to a previously lawless system, to sentence wrongdoers, whoever those were. Sans didn’t think he had the decisiveness necessary to even begin to do that job. He could see his brother’s logic, at least. With Papyrus in such a high position in the new royal court, an advisor and bodyguard to the ruler themself, it looked extremely bad for Sans to be an invalid loaf. Serving as Judge would put him in an appropriately high position for his family name, and the job would have, traditionally, served as a platform for the vengeance-hungry to punish his adversaries. Any normal monster that had been through what Sans had should be violently seeking revenge to salvage his destroyed reputation. Otherwise, he would be revealed to be a pathetic, weak waste of space.

As that was indeed the case, all Papyrus was really doing was pushing Sans to reveal himself as the coward he was. He didn’t want vengeance. Was he sick? Wouldn’t it be more normal to go out and kill every monster that humiliated him, if not devise something worse for them? But when Sans thought about the monsters most responsible, his soul did an odd twist, almost like it did when he thought about his brother.

It wasn’t a great feeling to know he was a complete degenerate, so Sans had suggested this holiday to Snowdin for himself while tensions continued to rise at the palace. Frisk agreed easily, insisting Sans should have all the time he needed, and of course, Papyrus was displeased. Sans was just starting to get used to disappointing him again, after the brief illusion that he could have actually done something to make him proud.

Sans left behind his ridiculous responsibilities there, his brother’s uncomfortable stares, and even the freakish, too-fancy cane that Papyrus kept insisting Sans use all the time.

So here he was, with his friend from the old days, enjoying a quiet night at the bar, ready to hump Grillby’s brains out until he forgot about all the other things going on.

Grillby certainly still showed interest. He was doing that flirty thing that could be mistaken for friendliness, where he let his flames brush harmlessly over Sans’s hands. Friendliness that he just so happened to never show anyone else. By the time Grillby turned to present Sans the plate of food, Sans was propping himself over the counter, leaning his face close to Grillby’s.

“Let’s go to the back.”

That didn’t even earn a sarcastic remark. Grillby’s fire crackled, his mouth open for a moment before he spoke, voice strangely hushed.

“Oh. Okay.”

The food was left forgotten as Sans stumbled from the stool, stepping unevenly to the counter’s hinged barrier. Grillby lifted it, showing Sans into the back rooms. Sans had been in the supply room before, but he’d never been down the hall, where Grillby’s living space probably was. He supposed it didn’t matter if they made it there. They could do it on the counter in front of the bar patrons if Grillby really wanted to.

Grillby was about to open the door to the supply room, but he paused in front of it.

“Did you want to talk?”

Sans didn’t have anything good to talk about. He definitely wasn’t interested in putting this off. He set his hands on Grillby’s chest, and he could feel heat, with a certain edge to it, emanating beneath the vest, magic fizzling in the air like the vacuum before a lightning strike.

“Oh,” Grillby said again. He set a hand over one of Sans’s. “Aren’t there things, before that, you’d want to...?”

Sans leaned in closer, worried he might tip onto Grillby rather inelegantly with how weak his legs were.

“I’m tired of waiting. I’m tired of pretending.”

That seemed to be answer enough for Grillby, who took one of Sans’s hands and led him down the hall. This was it. Sans was shown the room in the back, the one where Grillby slept. It was about what he might have imagined: tasteful, not heavily decorated, with as modern a look as a monster could be expected to put together with materials scavenged in the Underground. The full size bed had sleek, black sheets made up smoothly on top of white linens. It figured that Grillby was the type to make his bed every day.

Instead of tossing Sans on the mattress, Grillby was bending down, taking Sans’s chin in a hand to touch their mouths gently together. Ghosts flew up Sans’s spine. As Grillby wrapped his arms around him, Sans took the opportunity to grind against him. Grillby drew back from the kiss in surprise.

“Are you already...!”

It hadn’t occurred to Sans that his arousal shouldn’t work so fast. Then he remembered that Grillby had never even known him to possess any parts. The dirty notion got him straight into practiced habits, panting with his mouth open.

“Yeah. You make me really wet. I want you to touch me.”

Slowly, Grillby reached a hand down, sneaking it under the waist of Sans’s pants. The warmth crackled over Sans’s magic, making him shiver.

A finger started up a circular rubbing pattern. Grillby probably thought he’d found Sans’s clit, but it was somewhere above it, making the motion pretty uncomfortable. Sans went with it, pretending it felt good with enthusiastic moans, clasping Grillby’s arms. Grillby could do whatever he wanted to him.

It was starting to feel kind of like rug burn. Sans pressed closer into Grillby’s body so that his arm didn’t have as much space to move. Still, the rubbing kept up. Sans looked up into Grillby’s face, tilting his skull in the way he knew made his eyes look large but sultry.

“Please, I wanna feel your big, hard cock.”

Grillby didn’t say anything to that. They both edged to the bed, Grillby sitting while Sans climbed up after him, the task a bit difficult on his legs. Grillby unbuttoned his fly, his dick about half hard. It had that same ethereal fire glowing over it as the typically visible parts of his body, though the color was deeper. 

Before Sans could touch it, Grillby was scooting him forward, both hands stroking the crests of his pelvis. One hand slid down the back of the sacrum, pushing his hips closer to Grillby’s. He didn’t even want a blowjob?

Sans went ahead and raised his hips over the cock, leveraging himself to slide the lips of his pussy along it while Grillby laid on his back. He felt him getting harder already. Sans let out a breath. He hadn’t realized he’d been getting nervous. The scripts usually kept him on track.

Grillby reached a hand under them, aiming his dick while silently petting Sans’s sacrum from behind. Sans stopped rocking over him. He’d had plenty of clients who skipped foreplay, but this felt different somehow. They’d done a little. Sans was off-kilter, like he’d followed orders wrong, except that Grillby wasn’t even telling him what to do.

The tip poked into him, sliding in. The stretch had a burn to it that Sans didn’t think was from Grillby’s harmless flames.

Grillby held one arm behind Sans, turning them over so he was on top, Sans laying on his back. Sans gave a moan, mostly because it was starting to feel odd that both of them were silent. The dick had slipped back out from the move.

“Yeah, pound me, I want your cock inside me.”

Still with no answer, Grillby fixed his dick back inside, moving his hips over Sans. His finger was back not on Sans’s clit, flicking the bump of flesh above where the lips opened. Maybe Sans could discourage that without making Grillby upset.

“Mm, please, your cock makes my pussy feel so good...hammer my pussy...”

The movement stopped. Grillby was looking down on Sans, but his gaze was somewhere around the sheets instead of directly in the eyes.

“Could you...turn that off? It’s weird to hear you talk like that.”

Sans suddenly felt like his face was the surface of the sun. 

“Um. You want...”

“It’s just, you sound like...”

Like a whore.

“Y-yeah. I can—sorry. I can, um, not...”

Grillby didn’t move to get them going again. The magic in Sans’s very bones squirmed.

“Did you want to...not...?”

Grillby looked down between them, at his still present erection.

“Well, I’m...”

Right. Sans wasn’t done until the other monster came at least once. He tried spreading his legs a little wider to indicate he would do it, too nervous to choose any words that wouldn’t sound normal. Grillby’s hips started moving again, his dick stretching Sans with each push.

Other than a few touches to Sans’s sides and his pelvis, that was about all that happened for the next several minutes that seemed to stretch on and on. Grillby made a little bit of noise, and the hot spurt of cum inside came next. Sans didn’t cum, but he was too anxious to even try faking it, worried the act would be too much again. 

As Grillby pulled out, he leaned in for a perfunctory kiss that Sans returned as mutedly as he could. Then they were getting up from the bed, straightening out clothes, standing around with nothing said. Grillby was looking at him, then not, then looking at him, a stranger’s look.

“Well...I’ll see you next time.”

Sans fled from the room and from Grillby’s, out into the snow.

**

  
  


“I set my house on fire. Can I stay here?”

At first, Sans was inclined to think Undyne had come up with an outlandish excuse to come check on him. Papyrus hadn’t been subtle in his insistence on someone overseeing Sans during his sham of a vacation. But the proud captain of the guard had a sleeping bag sitting on the porch by her feet, and the edges of her clothes and hair were singed black.

“Are you...serious? Um, Captain?” Sans couldn’t go forgetting niceties around powerful monsters. King Asgore may have fallen, but that had only made monsters of rank more desperate and fierce about clutching to their titles. You never knew who would lash out to avenge the tiniest slight.

“I mean...‘I set it on fire’ sounds cooler and more in control than a towel on the stove, so yeah, about half serious.”

Sans almost burst into laughter, but years of regulating himself in public turned it into just a momentary stretch at the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t had a chance to meet Undyne in person, even though Papyrus had been getting close with her. He should have figured that his brother wouldn’t consider a monster a true friend if they were an absolute stick in the mud.

“We can keep that as the story if you want.”

Sans gestured for Undyne to enter, and she did, hefting her bag over a shoulder.

“That’s the official story, yeah. I got tired of it so I set it on fire, no big.”

She tossed the sleeping bag in its bundle to a spot by the couch. Sans looked it over for a second before truly reading its meaning.

“I’m sure the Boss would be fine with you using his bed. I mean, he’s staying at the palace with their Highness and all...”

Undyne turned to look Sans in the socket. She said something in response, but his mind was already going other places. Should he offer his own bed instead?

Should he offer more than his bed.

She was a powerful monster, he shouldn’t deny her anything. But then, if she wasn’t demanding anything, would it be more insulting to even offer? Asgore had certainly thought so. And Sans stood to ruin Papyrus’s friendship if he did anything stupid. He needed to not be so shameful in front of her, for his brother’s sake if nothing else. But what if she wanted it? Would it actually ruin things if he _didn’t_ offer up front, like the lowly monster he was...

“What am I saying? You don’t even remember meeting me for the first time, do you?”

Sans was startled out of his downward spiral by her words.

“Huh?”

Undyne tilted her head, pointing to her webbed ear and spinning her finger like thoughts were whirling down a drain.

“You didn’t, you know, I mean you weren’t exactly present, were you?”

Sans stared at her.

“This is my first time meeting you.”

Undyne’s face fell into some arrangement that didn’t make sense at all for her rank, so it took Sans a solid minute to recognize it as a look of pity. Sans felt the acid rise of unease in his body like he was going to puke. He attempted to steady himself as Undyne kept looking at him like that, even crouching a bit so she was closer to his level.

“We met a month ago. While your brother was taking care of you. You didn’t talk much, but sometimes when you got upset, you’d—”

Sans didn’t quite catch what she said over the sound of a garbage disposal going off in his skull. Some words came to him, as if warped through raging rapids and the desolation of time, floating up with blurred, decayed ink. “—promise you’d be good—” Brain matter closed like curtains. “—that you deserved it.”

Sans blinked into existence inside his kitchen cabinet, in the middle of wheezing and sobbing. Some woman’s voice called to him too loud, asking what was wrong. He just needed a minute. He needed to stop those sobbing noises. Something was going to find him.

Undyne was in his house, asking where they kept the vinegar, and Sans had to pretend he remembered letting her in. She was apparently staying the night, because she’d left a sleeping bag by the couch. Sans kept looking at it as they talked, feeling an itch up his spine. When it came time for sleep, Undyne climbed the stairs, stretching one arm behind her back.

“Think I’ll take you up on that room after all. A bed sounds great.”

Sans halted for a moment at the top of the stairs behind her, watching. She turned left, towards Papyrus’s room.

But did that mean anything?

Hesitating a second more, Sans hobbled his way after her. She’d freed her hair of her ponytail, fluffed the bright red locks, and sat heavily on the bed before she took notice of Sans following in. She stared at him with her one eye. Sans stayed in place, even though his legs hurt. It was better if he let her look him over.

Undyne sighed.

“Sans, I told you I’m not gonna fuck you.”

Hot shame turned Sans red from his crown to his neck. He felt like he was sinking into sand, trapping him in every mistake so he could be stared at while he made a jackass of himself. Why couldn’t everyone just take advantage of his offers and make it their fault instead of his.

**

Sans tried his best to power through the snail pie. He could hardly refuse food prepared by the former Queen of monsters, and making faces while eating it was totally out of the question. The delta rune inscribed on the wall across from him, behind where Queen Toriel sat, felt like it was mockingly reciting the three-point mantra for which it stood to Sans’s face: Fealty, Honor, Strength. Like it was challenging him to dare grimace at the next bite, to be anything less than the monster kingdom demanded of him.

“We are glad you could make it out here. We are afraid that the capital is not a very welcoming place to us anymore...and the ruins still feel like home after so long.”

Sans nodded solemnly. A ‘yes, your Majesty,’ would have been well-placed, but he was too afraid to talk with his mouth full of the pie, and the Queen had been fairly insistent on him eating.

There was a slimy crunch as Sans hit some shell that hadn’t been removed in the pie’s preparation. The slick texture sticking to the inner side of the shell piece almost made him gag out the whole bite. He clamped his mouth down hard and glanced at the delta rune on the wall above the door again.

Fealty, honor, strength. 

“We hope the journey was not too difficult on your legs.”

Sans wasn’t at all eager to tell the Queen that it was, or that he had a cane but left it in the capital, or why he’d left the capital. Sans still wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to make it back to Snowdin after this visit without debilitating pain and about twelve hundred breaks. You don’t refuse an invitation from the Queen, was all. So he’d worry about that later.

“We would like to take another look, when you have finished eating.”

Sans accidentally dropped his fork. He made a valiant effort to pick it back up, but it was like his arms had become as lame as his legs.

He had to repeatedly tell himself that Queen Toriel wasn’t like Muffet, wasn’t like the King. It wasn’t in her interest to capture him and cripple him further, or else why heal him in the first place? At least, Papyrus told him it was the Queen that healed his legs, as hard as he found that to believe without the memory of it to back it up. 

Sans had been confused by what sounded like pointless altruism at first, but eventually he made sense of it. Papyrus had been pushing his Judge agenda for Sans for a while, even before he recovered his memory. If the royal court insisted on Sans being a part of it, the Queen’s reputation was now tied to his, unfortunately for her. So may as well try to make every part of it look presentable and capable. Having the prospective candidate for Judge crawling around on his hands and knees, or even carried from place to place wouldn’t be acceptable no matter how she felt about the monster himself. It would mar the whole institution.

Suddenly, large, gentle paws were placed on Sans’s shoulders, and he jumped. The Queen lifted her hands off him. 

“Sans, there’s no need to be afraid of us. We regret we were not able to heal you fully, and we wish to see if there’s more we can do. That is all.”

Sans’s skull only managed to jerk around stiffly to look at her. Whatever her real motives were, at least she seemed sincere now.

“...yes, your Majesty.”

Despite the reassurances, from what remained of Sans’s logic, and from the Queen, Sans couldn’t stop trembling as he laid back on the couch, allowing his pants to be rolled up to his knees. 

Sans hadn’t been aware the last time this was done. He could be thankful for that now, as the slide of soft paws over his knee and along his calf bone lit up a trail of nerves.

“Just relax, Sans.”

Was that an order? ...what if Sans failed?

Her fingers brushed over the misaligned scars across both legs, under the kneecaps. They lit up with the soft light of healing magic that sank into the bone and sparkled through the marrow, making the bones look hollow. Below the scars, the healing light that traveled the veins of magic was several shades dimmer, and along the scars it was totally dark. The Queen made a tutting noise.

“We thought as much. The magic that moves your bones has not just been severed...the one who did this to you healed it right after breaking it, and reattached it off-mark to create a blockage. Our only hope to restore you more perfectly might be to...”

Sans was grateful she didn’t say aloud that they would need to break his legs again. It made him a little more confident that she wasn’t going to go ahead and do it regardless of what he wanted.

The healing magic she was sinking into him, whether it was doing anything to help his legs or not, was actually pretty soothing, and it would be a shame to ruin that feeling with panic. 

“You have suffered quite a lot, haven’t you?”

Sans murmured indistinctly, unable to fully process the Queen touching him gently, treating him like he was still a loyal subject and not a piece of chewed up garbage.

She bent down further, lifting one of his legs and examining it closer. 

A claw on one hand traced delicately under a scar, and Sans became aware of something other than nerves making him tremble. The Queen’s huge body threw him into shadow, taking up his entire field of vision, his entire world, as she leaned over him. The dominant position and the feel of her hands on his limbs triggered a dark, humiliatingly provocative memory. 

The king, a dimly lit room...playing with Sans mercilessly while he praised him, told him what a good whore he was, finger fucked him willingly into total submission—

A pleasant heat was tingling through Sans’s bones, spreading from every part Queen Toriel so much as brushed. He choked back a needy whine.

Oh shit. Oh no. He didn’t.

He didn’t just involuntarily form his pussy in front of the Queen, simply from her touching his leg. 

Queen Toriel did nothing but freeze and stare at the glow for a moment. After everything Sans had been through, was this really how he finally died? Offending the Queen by being a nasty perverted asshole in her presence, because he’d been left without a trace of self control?

“Why...are you interested in us, Sans?”

Oh fuck.

How would Papyrus handle an etiquette quagmire like this. Insult the Queen by presuming worthiness and get beheaded, or insult the Queen by implying her ineligible and get beheaded. There had to be a neutral answer. At least he could go out with some degree of class.

“You’re...very desirable, your Majesty.” 

The Queen raised a paw delicately to her cheek, a light blush creeping under her eyes.

Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, was that wrong?

“It has been a while since anyone looked at us in that way. Though we suppose self-imposed exile plays a part as well.”

Queen Toriel’s other hand snuck over Sans’s right leg, tip toeing up his shin with her fingers.

“You know, pies are a particular specialty of ours, and perhaps you would entertain the notion of...a creampie for dessert?” 

Sans’s soul stopped.

Either that was a very awkward segue from near disaster to literal dessert plans, or the Queen of monsters was propositioning a whore. 

On some level, it did make things easier that she was the Queen. Because that meant there was only one appropriate answer from Sans either way.

“Yes, your highness.”

The push of a hand had Sans falling backwards into the thick, puffy comforter of the bed, his body dropping in an arc that made his soul float high in his chest. He could picture the imaginary line tracing the curve of his fall, spiking back up in a wave to represent the inversely proportional surge of arousal.

He landed with his arms spread out, ready to impress snow angels into the sheets. The Queen climbed over him, blocking out the room like a mountain might hide the sun. Robes already done away with, she slipped her thumbs into the strips of her panties that hugged right over her love handles. The panties came down, sliding against her thighs in a slow tease.

Sans blinked.

She’d said she intended to give him a ‘creampie,’ so he’d sort of expected her to have a cock. Instead, a dripping pussy was exposed, strings of fluid streaking her inner thighs as the underwear came down, matting the fur there.

Now Sans wasn’t really certain what she wanted to do to him. The Queen was an older woman. Maybe she’d confused the meaning of the innuendo?

Those concerns took a backseat as she lowered her hips over Sans’s waist, grinding on him while he was still clothed. The clingy dampness seeping onto his bones through his shirt made him swallow in anticipation. It felt like she was clamping onto him with her thighs. The raw power, the delicate care she showed his tiny form, all made a thrill shoot up Sans’s spine.

“Sans, would you be so kind as to make a cock?”

Sans did his best to obey, dispelling his cunt with some difficulty. Reforming the magic, even into this less familiar configuration, was a lot less trouble. The smell of sex in the air kept Sans perched in a heady state of arousal, and his dick jumped into existence fully hard. 

He whined a little when her hand went for it right away, dipping into his pants and stroking it into an almost painfully concentrated excitement. Sans might actually be in danger of cumming that fast.

Sans was bombarded with memories of Red City, of ‘Asgore’ spanking him, of Pyrope getting him to cum all over himself and then teasing punishment, and suddenly Sans found himself entertaining the idea of spoiling the Queen’s plans for him just to see how she would deal with his transgression. And there was no reason that the thought should bring him to near suffocating levels of arousal.

The Queen’s hand stopped stimulating him too early for him to act on the idea. Then his pants were tugged down, his dick aimed up straight, and her pussy lowering toward sitting on it.

That would probably hurt, wouldn’t it? Especially if it was erect like this, her just sitting on it would crush

unless she was holding it like that because she was going to put it

in

oh

Some kind of strange keening noise was filling the room, and the weight of the bed shifted dramatically. Time appeared to skip to Sans putting together a new scene, one where Queen Toriel had gotten off the bed to stand beside it, planting her hands on the covers near his head. And the awful, pathetic noise of alarm was coming out of Sans’s throat. 

“Sans, are you alright?”

“I’m not—”

Sans wasn’t aware of making himself speak, but he was somehow doing it anyway as his body curled in protectively, his own erection startling him as it brushed his bones, making him think some third unknown monster was touching him somehow.

“It didn’t—it didn’t...it didn’t...?”

“Sans?”

“It didn’t go in, I didn’t put it inside?”

“Sans, you are not making sense...”

Sans’s hands flew to cover his face.

“I can’t remember what just happened please _please tell me if it went inside you”_

The fabric creased by Sans’s skull as a hand slid down it.

“You...did not penetrate, Sans, you looked frightened as we were over you, so we got off the bed. That is all that happened.”

“Please please please I didn’t? I didn’t do it?”

“We already—why is this so important to you, Sans?”

“ _God please_ ”

“You did not. We said you did not.”

Sans rolled to his side and bunched up with his knees to his chest, sobbing into his hands.

He felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Please, Sans, tell us if you are alright.”

“I’m...not...like that...I wouldn’t do that...I would never...please, I can’t...”

The hand rubbed softly over his shoulder blade.

“We have stopped. We made a mistake. We did not mean to pressure you to do something with which you were not comfortable.”

Sans choked, his throat tightening up from the welling uncertainty and fear. The tears kept coming fast as he babbled, despair and guilt and disgust overwhelming him into total helplessness.

“I’m not like them, I wouldn’t’ve done it if I’d known it was—I didn’t mean to, please, I didn’t want to, I would never do that, please—”

Sans’s shoulder was lightly shaken.

“We promise you that we are not lying. You did not enter us. Nothing has happened. Our hand was the only part that touched you.”

Sans crumpled under the heaviness of his sobs.

“I’m...so-rry...” He gasped. “The way you said it, like...when someone is...like you’re pretending to...answer, without...”

“We apologize. We were merely confused. This is clearly very important to you. We promise we have said only the truth.”

The reassurances finally reached somewhere deep enough in Sans’s brain to get him on a track to calming down, although his shuddering still wracked his whole body for a minute longer. At first he was only touched on the shoulders, but as he relaxed a little more, he was stroked down his arms and ribs. The contact turned him into a puddle, making him roll back on his spine again and melting the constriction in his throat until he could speak.

“I...god, your highness, I’m so...I’m sorry, I’m pathetic, I ruined your...I’m so sorry, I’ll do whatever you—” But Sans choked on the promise, unable to show obedience even to the Queen when it meant...

“...Sans, you don’t need to worry about us asking for such a thing. We don’t have any need to do things you don’t like. But...will you please tell us why you are so against entering us?”

“I just...I can’t...I can’t rape someone.” 

***

Sans didn’t tell anyone he was back in New Home. He’d hitched a ride on a reconstructed jeep with some out of town vagrants, and it had taken every ounce of control in his disgusting little body to not offer them sex on the way. 

What was he going to do here in the capital? Accepting the job of Judge was a terrible idea. Home in Snowdin was no good. There wasn’t any place he still belonged. Save one, of course.

The street that led to Red City wound like the swing of a hypnotist’s watch. He’d hardly ever approached it from the outside, but he knew the way by heart anyway. Pretty soon his legs would be too sore to walk any further. And he’d be stuck. Unable to leave.

“I remember you.”

For once, the phrase wasn’t the lead in for Sans to fall into a dark panic. The old bat, one of his first customers at Red City, made its way towards him from the corner of the dirty sidewalk. 

“You’re that poor little thing with the troubled sleep.”

And again, for once, the blunt pity didn’t make Sans cringe inside his own body. There was something about the way the bat spoke that made everything it said sound so sincere. It was either the best trick Sans had ever seen, or it was genuine, and it worked either way.

The bat came closer, tilting Sans’s chin up. Its wing was attached to its fingers, so the leathery appendage brushed Sans with the gesture, making him give a sensitive shiver. That was another thing about coming from Red City. Once a whore, always a whore, so everyone was going to think they were allowed to touch you. They were right, of course.

“How are you, dear?”

“I’m, uh. I’m doing...”

That sentence wasn’t going anywhere.

“...I’m doing.”

The bat gave a little laugh, his nose wrinkling as a tiny snaggletooth showed.

“Nothing changes down here, hm?”

Its fingers swept over Sans’s cheek bone once. 

“Would you like to come to my apartment, have a lie in? Keep me company a bit?”

The bat motioned down the street, the opposite direction. 

“...yes.”

Sans couldn’t say no.

  
  


The interior of the bat’s apartment was exactly what Sans might have imagined for a lonely widower with a dress fetish. Quaint decor, complete with floral curtains and tea sets in dainty glass cupboards. Lace at the end of every furniture cover.

As Sans took in the place, the bat was rummaging in a cupboard, offering Sans the couch with a motion and a ‘please’. Sans took a seat.

Even though he knew, Sans didn’t understand how he’d ended up here. His hands fiddled with his button-up, and he wondered if he should take it off.

It seemed the bat had taken some of Muffet’s famous pudding to go, because he was measuring it out on a teaspoon, small pink tongue licking it off with a delicacy that matched the interior of his home. Just like the first time Sans serviced him, the old monster probably needed the aphrodisiac’s effects to get going. He looked over at Sans.

“Last time, this was a bit too much for you. You don’t need any, is that right?”

He’d managed to phrase the offer so that an affirmative was a refusal. A feeling like warm liquid squeezed around Sans’s soul. He didn’t think any monster had ever given him that kind of consideration. 

“Yeah, I...I don’t need it.”

The jar and teaspoon were placed on a counter without a word. The bat was in front of Sans again, and now there was an even more significant height difference between them, the bat standing and Sans in his shadow, reclined into the back cushion of the sofa. It was a position that should have tingles of fear shooting through Sans’s body, and it did, almost—the feeling was less fear and more a thrill that mimicked fear, a pseudo-adrenal rush that sped Sans’s breathing and flushed his joints in anticipation. His eyelights were drawn down to the other monster’s pants, its thin fingers unzipping the fly.

“Are you able to make breasts?” 

That caught Sans short. He’d been trained to make a lot of things he never used. Some monsters liked him for the novelty of touching bones, but mostly it consumed a lot of energy to support extensive magic constructs. No doubt Muffet charged extra for that kind of request, and Sans’s clients had been satisfied humiliating Sans in the usual easy ways.

“Yes...I um, I can’t keep it up for that long...”

Although he hadn’t tested it now that he was eating more. Muffet had kept him on a strict diet. Skeleton monsters had an odd relationship with ‘fat,’ but the way clothes sat on him and the shape of the magic he formed did depend a lot on the foods he ate. Even without purposefully constructing magic that could be touched there, Sans used to have a gut of invisible magic that had pushed his shirts out around his middle. That had, apparently, gone against Muffet’s preferred aesthetic for Sans, hence the dieting.

The bat fixed Sans with a considering expression.

“Perhaps we can conserve your energy...if we don’t work you too hard.”

Sans swallowed. He concentrated on calling out the magic, letting it perspire out from his bones and fill in spaces previously empty. His breasts draped over his rib cage, soft raindrops filling out like water pouring into a cup. He went ahead and let his stomach form as well, the magic drizzling down to connect his breasts to his hips, swimming into his thighs and his pussy in an extra little surge of feedback as one magic construct met another. 

The bat was staring at him. He’d taken his cock out, and it already looked rock hard. Sans supposed that the way magic constructs glowed didn’t leave much to the imagination, even through clothes, though his pussy probably didn’t give away as much of its shape as his breasts did through the shirt. The nipples poked out in obvious raised nubs that the fabric couldn’t hide.

The bat spoke softly, but there was a strain in his voice.

“Will you strip for me?” 

Sans nodded. One hand snaked up his chest, cupping his right breast and tickling at a button. He moved himself to unbuttoning, widening the opening of the shirt as he went so that the round press of cleavage was shown off.

The bat was stroking himself.

Sans startled, his hands freezing momentarily. This other monster was standing there, watching him, not moving to touch him. But already turned on by looking at him. Sans tested the situation with a small tease, tugging the undone portion of his shirt so it almost freed one breast, but letting it snap back at the last moment, the tit bouncing from the pressure of the fabric.

The bat’s breathing grew faster, his gaze burning into Sans’s chest. He kept up a slow pace, hand sliding smoothly up and down his shaft. Sans’s pussy gave a wet clench.

He was really just watching. Watching Sans show himself off, and pleasuring himself to it. The crazy notion prickled up Sans’s spine with quiet excitement. He undid the last buttons, and finally slipped a hand between breast and shirt to shed the layer with a gentle push, letting the shirt puddle around his arms on the cushion. The bat’s breath hitched.

Another monster simply enjoying the sight of Sans’s body. It wasn’t something that had occurred to him to want. He’d grown accustomed to being used from word go, without any dwelling on Sans as a person.

The bat was panting, eyes taking in everything Sans had laid bare. Precum dribbled from the tip of his penis as he pumped it more aggressively. Sans went to undoing his pants, hooking in his fingers to scoot them down his legs. He let those fall too, slowly opening his legs to expose his pussy. 

With a thump, the bat was bent over him, one hand landed on the back of the couch for balance while the other was still working furiously between his legs. Seeing the cock dripping so close to him was making Sans’s cunt throb desperately. He needed to be given some of that. With a hand trembling from excitement, Sans spread open the lips of his pussy to expose that, too. He was pretty sure the bat would be able to see the hole leaking and straining for him.

The bat grunted, then let out a low, growling moan of relief. Cum spurt from his cock and splattered over Sans’s breasts, making him press his legs together from a surge of arousal. The bat kept stroking, making the cum shoot wildly over Sans, landing on his face, more on his tits, his stomach, thighs, and over his cunt, too. Sans whimpered, shuddering as the warm spray of cum there excited him almost too much. He couldn’t do anything but sit there and shiver like he’d just been fucked, but still needing more. He needed to cum too, so, so badly.

Sans felt the bat’s breath as he panted heavily over Sans, hunching lower so that he practically trapped Sans where he sat. His cock was still weeping over Sans, the last of the cum hitting him in small squirts. The bat seemed determined to get all of it on him, and Sans found he didn’t mind that.

As the bat watched him, though, its eyes locked on an area slightly above Sans’s pussy.

“...did you know your tailbone wags?”

Sans nearly jumped. The bat wasn’t looking at his stomach, he was looking through him, through the magic construct to the end of his sacrum. Sans’s answer was automatic before he even moved his head.

“It does not.”

Tilting his skull down, however, revealed that his tailbone was happily flicking back and forth, too short to do much more than wriggle. Sans didn’t know what to feel other than a supreme embarrassment. How had he never known that? And for it to be pointed out for him before he knew himself.

An amused chortle sounded over him. The bat seemed immensely pleased by the discovery.

“May I touch it?”

“Oh! I...”

Still embarrassed, Sans shuffled himself so that his sacrum was flat on the couch cushion, legs and ass raised so that the little bone at the end stuck out from under him. It was still fucking wagging, giving an extra twitch of excitement as the bat’s leftover cum slid down Sans’s pussy lips from the change in position.

The bat swept one wing under Sans to help support his legs in their raised position, and even though it was more comfortable, it was definitely extra humiliating. Of course, this was Sans, so that meant he was extra turned on, too.

A finger brushed Sans’s tailbone, and suddenly he was bucking in the monster’s hold. Sparks shot up his spine, his pussy squeezing tight. He had no idea that bone was so sensitive. Clients hadn’t paid it any mind before. He barely had a second to reflect on that before the bat was stroking it between two fingers and Sans was losing his mind.

“Ahh...! Gh! Ah! Ah!”

It stopped. Sans nearly sobbed, was just about to beg the bat to have mercy and finish what he was doing, but then Sans was being lifted higher and the bat’s tongue wrapped around his coccyx. 

Sans was pretty sure he’d lost control of his body as the bat sucked on the tailbone. His spine arched up, hips jerking and body trembling all over as he squealed and cried. His orgasm crashed through him, turning him into a soppy, syrupy mess. Another little suckle made him come a second time, thighs clenching over each other as he really did begin to sob. Wetness gushed from between his legs, the finish making the hole of his pussy throb with intense release.

Finally, he was laid down on his back, carefully arranged so that he was across two cushions. For reasons beyond his handicap, he didn’t think he would be able to walk for a while.

“Was that alright?”

“Gnnmfggll...”

Sans reached what he was pretty sure was the bat’s arm to squeeze it in assurance. He wasn’t going to be able to talk normally for a bit, either.

The bat’s wing brushed Sans’s face, and a quilted blanket was drawn over him up to his shoulders. Should he de-summon the magic over his body? The tits were still sapping a lot of energy. Before he could consciously decide that or do anything about it, he was out.

Sans woke to tinkling sounds. The bat was tidying something in his cupboards, and Sans was still laid out on the couch. His magic had let go in his sleep, and his clothes were folded neatly by his feet.

“Oh...sorry...”

He hadn’t meant to really fall asleep in the other monster’s apartment. The bat chuckled, coming over to retrieve the blanket as Sans shrugged it off. At some point while he slept, it seemed he’d been cleaned of the bat’s cum, as well. 

“I had a feeling it might take quite a bit out of you.”

Sans pulled his shirt back on and worked at the buttons.

“It, uh, yeah it’s...I don’t usually do that much...”

The bat stuffed the quilt into a hamper hanging over a closet door. To wash the cum stains from it, Sans supposed.

“It was alright for you?”

Sans stopped in the middle of getting his pants on. The bat had asked that before, hadn’t he?

“I...I came really hard...”

Even though it had been good, Sans couldn’t help feeling ashamed to admit just how good. He badly wanted that done to him again later, and he felt sick with himself that he wanted that, that he’d loved being that vulnerable. He’d done it on purpose, and for god’s sake he wanted more.

“Oh, thank goodness.”

The bat cheerfully helped Sans off the couch.

“You did seem to like it, but you were also...but I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Sans had his clothes back on, his coin purse still in his pants, and that was all his possessions he had with him, so he was confused at first when the bat handed him one more, a bag of gold.

“It was a lovely time as always, dear. Shall I walk you back?”

“Oh...no, that’s...okay...I can make it...”

The bat wished him well again, showing him politely to the door and waving him off. Sans started his way back to the palace. He shouldn’t keep the money out, he knew better than to have it so obvious while he walked down the street, but he kept staring at it and hoping to comprehend what it was doing in his hands. The Underground slowed to a stop as the echoes of Red City jangled down the streets of New Home like loose change. Sans weighed the bag in his hand, the first time he’d gotten his own pay for doing the job he’d done for over a year.

Oh. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've missed you!! 
> 
> Just like in the old days, I'll still consider requests and suggestions for kinks for the sexy bits of the fic. The difference is that this time around, Sans isn't in captivity...unless you count the captivity of his own heart.
> 
> Anyways Underfell, as it turns out, super ableist. Sans's disability adventures continue in chapter 2.
> 
> For art, updates, requests, and people often begging me for eggs, you can find me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/LeechMc).


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